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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049250">In which Roman must make a Choice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_47/pseuds/Writer_47'>Writer_47</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nurture [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Succession (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:49:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_47/pseuds/Writer_47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>#4) Follows on from 'Yacht', 'In which Gerri thinks about Age' and 'In which they Holiday'.</p><p>Chapter 2 - people know, their 2nd date weekend, and choices to be made...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nurture [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been seven whole days since he was alone with her. Seven days.</p>
<p>He was barely home before he was on a flight out to Washington. And then it was interviews and briefings and strategy meetings.</p>
<p>Every night he called her from his hotel bed, he’d fill her in on every detail, get her thoughts, her feedback, make notes if it was needed. And then the conversations meandered, sometimes he would push it in a sexual direction and she’d chastise him for being such a needy fuck and talk him to climax and then she’d lay there in her own bed listening to his heavy breathing and the way he ground out her name. Other nights they’d both lie in the dark talking over whatever came to mind, and it reminded him of being on the beach and letting the day and the conversation lead wherever it wanted.</p>
<p>It was nice, to feel wanted.</p>
<p>As if he had some place in her life and had neatly slotted into it. She never mentions anything odd from work, there are no signs that anybody has questioned her or that things have been awkward. Life goes on as normal and he’s glad of that.</p>
<p>His flight lands just after ten and in the car at the airport he texts her:</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Coming over. Prepare yourself.</strong>
</p>
<p>She sends him the sleeping emoji in return and he knows that’s a lie – she never goes to bed until at least midnight.</p>
<p>In the elevator at her apartment block he feels like a child on Christmas Eve, pulse fast, skin prickly, stomach turning – he thinks of stripping off naked, wonders if she’ll appreciate it when she greets him at the door. But he thinks better of it, she likes this apartment after all and he’s not sure even she can keep a story as juicy as that out of the news.</p>
<p>Her door is already open as he leaves the elevator and she’s standing there like some vision with a half-smile and her arms folded and her hair is clipped up and she’s already in her silk pyjamas.</p>
<p>“Well. I’m prepared.” She says, with a nonchalant shrug.</p>
<p>He smiles at her, swaggers, reaches for his belt buckle and opens it as he walks towards her which makes her roll her eyes and raise her eyebrows.</p>
<p>He pulls the zip down.</p>
<p>She is giggling by the time he gets to her, lifts her up, carries her inside and kicks the door shut. A tangle of arms and mouths melting together all over again. The sweetness of it, that scent, the touch of her skin, the sound of her voice saying his name.</p>
<p>Seven days since he’s breathed her in or tasted her skin or hidden his face in her hair.</p>
<p>Somehow they end up in her lounge, and he’s perched on the side of the sofa with his shirt hanging open and her mouth moving over his chest.</p>
<p>“Take the rest of your clothes off,” she instructs, standing back, watching him. “Now, kneel on that sofa.”</p>
<p>He does as she asks. Feels a sense of excitement and shame building as she looks at him, her eyes raking over every detail, lingering between his legs where his desire for her is so evident.</p>
<p>“I suppose you think turning up at my apartment late at night is acceptable,” she snaps, slowly unbuttoning her pyjama top. “That you deserve some sort of reward. Well?”</p>
<p>He nods, mouth dry, “Sorry Gerri.”</p>
<p>She drops her top, is naked beneath it, she was fresh from a bath when his text came in.</p>
<p>“And I also suppose that you think this is some sort of nice surprise, you flying home tonight instead of tomorrow?”</p>
<p>He nods again.</p>
<p>“And that sending flowers to my apartment every day this week is some sweet gesture and not a fucking pain in my ass to try and deal with.”</p>
<p>He glances around. There is only one vase of flowers he can see, on the coffee table, where she sits at night with her feet up and catches up on the news.</p>
<p>“I sent the rest to care homes.” She says, as if she can read his mind. “Courtesy of Roman Roy.” She’s smart, he never fails to be impressed by that. “Really Roman, I thought you knew better.”</p>
<p>There’s something in her tone that makes him shudder, he wants to be plunging inside her, shivering inside her.  He bites the inside of his cheek. “I’m very sorry, Gerri.”</p>
<p>“I should think so.”</p>
<p>It is painful watching her push her pyjama bottoms down and off, noting the tan lines, more obvious now they’re not lying in the sun – the white lines where her swimsuit sat.</p>
<p>“I do think you’ve been a good boy, mind, I’ve been very impressed with your patience and your work ethic.”</p>
<p>“Gerri,” his voice pleads, “let me touch you.”</p>
<p>She smiles at that, because she’s missed him too and it costs her very little to admit that.</p>
<p>“I am very tired,” she steps towards him, her fingers trailing over his shoulder. “Perhaps you can wake me up.”</p>
<p>He takes her on the sofa, on her knees with her hands pressed into the cushions and its one of the rawest moments of absolute passion she’s experienced. She can’t recall ever coming so hard or so fast.</p>
<p>Breathless they lay together, her back pressed to his chest, his hand on her hip, mouth on the back of her neck.</p>
<p>“You know,” she murmurs, the vestiges of her orgasm still trailing through her body. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“On a Saturday?” He suckles on her earlobe.</p>
<p>“I’m having breakfast with an old friend.”</p>
<p>He’s not sure why but it stings. “Do I know him/her?”</p>
<p>“Him. And no. He’s one of Baird’s friends, I’d arranged it before I knew you’d be back.”</p>
<p>“Are you kicking me out?”</p>
<p>“No,” she moves to turn and he loosens his arm, allows her to move onto her back so he’s leaning over her. “I’m more than happy for you to stay. But I’m warning you because if you feel uncomfortable being here without me then you’ll either have to get up at a reasonable hour too or go home tonight.”</p>
<p>He bends to nuzzle her neck, the soft silk of her skin over her collarbone.</p>
<p>“I’m going to take this as stay.”</p>
<p>“Mmm…”</p>
<p>“Okay. And do I get to know what the date is tomorrow? Do we still have one?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he kisses his way up her chest, back to her mouth. “I got an invite for some art exhibition.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” she grips his shoulder, “stop doing that for a minute and focus.”</p>
<p>He is grinning as he rests his chin on her chest staring up at her. “Yes. Focussed.”</p>
<p>His expression makes her smile and shake her head, “You’re exasperating. How long you known of this art thing?”</p>
<p>“Few days.”</p>
<p>“You couldn’t have told me during one of our many phone calls?”</p>
<p>“More important things to talk about…” he is tiptoeing his fingers across her breast to her nipple.</p>
<p>“Stop… Is it the Met?”</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>“That’s not a little exhibition thing, a lot of wealthy individuals will be there.”</p>
<p>“Including us.” He can’t help himself now and tilts his head down to kiss her again. “Booked in for Zenkichi too. You can’t complain about that.”</p>
<p>“I won’t complain about either of these things, that’s a rather good date – a little unexpected considering what I know about your interests.”</p>
<p>“Hey, I can kick it with the pretentious art world as good as the next millionaire. Buy some shit for an extraordinary amount of money just to be seen.”</p>
<p>She only half believes his sarcasm, he very much plays into the role of rich kid swimming in the one percent pool, whether he truly enjoys it is questionable.</p>
<p>“And you’re sure, I mean, it’ll be… busy… high profile. Photographs on the way in.”</p>
<p>“Name checked in Vanity Fair,” he moves to her mouth, “I don’t give a shit.”</p>
<p>She settles her arms around him, holds him tight, relaxing. “There will be people I know.”</p>
<p>“And likely many I don’t, you can form introductions.”</p>
<p>“Oh lucky me. You know, it’s not a red dress occasion. It’s a black dress occasion.” She traces her index finger down the side of his face. “Perhaps I could be persuaded into red underwear, given the effort you’ve gone to for the date.”</p>
<p>“That image might just be enough to get me through the art shit.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” she strokes her hand through his hair. “None of your family have said anything?”</p>
<p>“No. And fuck them too.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t believe him on that neither but nods anyway. “Did you eat, on the flight?”</p>
<p>“No. And I feel like I need my energy topped up.”</p>
<p>“I’d offer to make you something but that would be a fucking disaster. You can dial out.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” he reluctantly gets up, throws her pyjama top to her.</p>
<p>“You mind if I do a couple of things, work wise?”</p>
<p>“Course not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She still takes the right side of the bed. He finds her sitting there in just her pyjama top with her laptop propped on her knee when he returns with two glasses of bourbon.</p>
<p>“From orgasm to work in five minutes flat it’s… da da dahhhh Super Gerri!” He handed her one of the glasses.</p>
<p>“Thank you, I’m sorry, I need to get on,” she took a sip of her drink. “You don’t have to stay.” She said teasingly.</p>
<p>“Are you kidding, I’ve dialled out for pizza now, I know your wicked plan – use me for my body then steal my pizza whilst I walk the long, cold New York streets alone, the sexiest punk ass urchin you’ve ever seen.”</p>
<p>She was staring at him open-mouthed, “A-ha, get the fuck in bed.”</p>
<p>“She’s so demanding, it’s like fuck fuck fuck 24/7, might as well be front of house in a brothel.”</p>
<p>“Are you high?” She asked as he clambered in next to her.</p>
<p>“Only on seeing you again.” He leant over her, kissing her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Suck up.”</p>
<p>“Mmm,” he moved to her mouth, kissing her deeply, taking his time, letting his tongue stroke hers until she moaned and placed her hand to his chest, pushing him back.</p>
<p>“You’ve already had that.”</p>
<p>“I might want some more of it though, please miss.”</p>
<p>“Maybe later, if you’re a good boy. But I do actually need to do a little work.”</p>
<p>He flopped back down next to her, crossing his legs and laying on top of the bedsheets. “Don’t you fuss, I actually only come here because you’re the only person I know who still has a television.”</p>
<p>“I know, and it’s such a useful little tool once you get past the wind-up element.”</p>
<p>For a minute or two she sat sipping her drink as he raced through the channels, and then once he’d found the real crime show he seemed to like, he settled and concentrated. It was sort of cute, watching him concentrate, like taming a new puppy – they’re all gorgeous and excitable but likely to piss on the carpet if not properly trained; she felt that way about Roman at times. But, give him his due, he was coming along quite nicely.</p>
<p>She patted his leg before turning her attention to her emails.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s unlike her to be late, and she’s annoyed with herself in the car on the way to breakfast. Roman woke her up, and then they played; ‘adult games’ he calls them, and after he went back to sleep and she had to get up. It’s put her all out of sync, but mostly she’s annoyed because she would have preferred to have turned over with him and slept.</p>
<p>Her phone vibrates just as they’re coming out of the traffic and her driver finds a spot to pull up.</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Thanks for the loan of your bed.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Anytime. You made me late.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Anytime too. Be there at 6:30 xx</strong>
</p>
<p>It’s the first time he’s used x on a text. She dwells on that for longer than she should, feeling like a silly girl for noticing it and caring. She feels energised and giddy as she heads out onto the busy street.</p>
<p>She slips her scarf off, shakes the flakes of snow loose from her coat and scans the room. A tall, older gentleman rises from across the room and waves towards her.</p>
<p>“Gerri, so good to see you.”</p>
<p>He drew her into a welcoming hug, “Simon, hello, it’s lovely to see you too. Been far too long.”</p>
<p>“Don’t, I feel terrible about that. Have a seat, I’ve only ordered coffee so far.”</p>
<p>“For me too,” she says, glancing up as a waitress stood over them, “black coffee and an almond croissant please.”</p>
<p>“Nothing more substantial,” he queried, ordering eggs, bacon and a side of pancakes.</p>
<p>“I’m out tonight, I don’t want to overdo it during the day. Plus I’m meeting my trainer after this. So, a couple of hours being put through my paces. Then I have a hair appointment,” she sighed, “it’s just going to be one of those days.”</p>
<p>“Thanks for making time for this.”</p>
<p>She pressed her hand to his, “Oh, of course. I enjoy our chats. How’s Krystie?”</p>
<p>“Not too bad, unable to travel much now so I’m in the city on my own, but at least the rate of deterioration has slowed somewhat. You know how it is.”</p>
<p>She did, she remembered well how it was. “With Baird it seemed once he hit the slippery slope it was all at once.”</p>
<p>“I miss our fishing trips,” he said, as the waitress brought their food. “Was thinking about that as I drove in.”</p>
<p>“His favourite way to spend a weekend.”</p>
<p>“You still sail?” He asked.</p>
<p>She glanced to her plate, feeling her cheeks warm – a memory of making love on a sailboat. “I did actually, quite recently, whilst I was away. Was surprised I remembered so much.”</p>
<p>“You said about this trip when we spoke. Unlike you, to take time off work, I thought maybe the world was spinning on a different axis.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” was all she said.</p>
<p>“Something’s happened,” Simon was tapping his spoon against the side of his coffee cup, the froth of his cappuccino coating the edge of the china.</p>
<p>“In what regard?”</p>
<p>“You. You seem, I don’t know, different somehow. Can’t put my finger on it.”</p>
<p>“It is an incredibly stressful time, not sure if you’ve noticed,” she sips her coffee, puts her cup down, breaks off the edge of her croissant. “I feel like somebody is breathing down my neck all the time with that. I’m sure my blood pressure must be sky-high.”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “There’s always retirement. Girls might have kids of their own soon, you could be…”</p>
<p>“Do not say the word ‘grandmother’. Can you see me sitting in a rocking chair knitting?</p>
<p>He chuckled, “No. But it wasn’t really work I was referring to. More than that. You’ve got a glow.”</p>
<p>She laughed awkwardly, leaning back in her chair, “A fucking glow!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, <em>a fucking glow</em>.”</p>
<p>“It’s my tan.”</p>
<p>“And you still won’t tell me who you went with, on this trip.”</p>
<p>“I might have gone on my own.”</p>
<p>“Nobody looks like that after two weeks on their own. You’ve met somebody new and you spent two weeks doing what new couples do.”</p>
<p>She can’t help the slip of her smile, the way she crosses her ankles beneath the table, “Not exactly ‘new’.”</p>
<p>“Meaning? Don’t be coy with me, I’ve known you for thirty years.”</p>
<p>“That’s what bothers me.”</p>
<p>“You think I’d judge?”</p>
<p>“Nooo, not on purpose. He’s younger.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“I feel a bit like one of these real housewife characters to be honest, and you know that’s not me.”</p>
<p>“Not after the wealthy widow, is he?”</p>
<p>“I knew you’d ask that.”</p>
<p>“I’m an accountant, it’s in my nature. But he isn’t, is he?”</p>
<p>“He’s considerably richer than I am, so no worries on that score. The girls’ trust fund is safe.” She beckoned to the waitress to order more coffee.</p>
<p>“Do they know?”</p>
<p>“Not really. We’re only just, erm…”</p>
<p>“Is it new ‘new’?”</p>
<p>“Not… it’s been months, longer if we count the tiny little steps along the way. But months of being more serious, I’d say, more exclusive. But I have known him a long time.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“But we’re only just telling people, if that makes sense, we needed privacy, see how things went. In fact we’re not even really ‘telling anybody’, we’re just starting to go out together and see if anyone notices or even cares.”</p>
<p>“You embarrassed?”</p>
<p>“No, not especially.” She breathed deeply, “I’m used to being in the background, he very much isn’t. And with me being so much older I just… I suppose I worry what will be said. And I shouldn’t, because I usually don’t give a fuck what people think.”</p>
<p>“And he… is he embarrassed?”</p>
<p>“I think he’s nervous. Torn. He wants it to be public, wants to be able for the two of us to just start going places together. But it’s complicated, it can be, I mean. I think he’s worried about how his family will react.”</p>
<p>“I get that.” He nodded, beginning to form an idea of who she was referring to – there had been several phone calls over the past year where they’d been catching up and she’d mentioned a name; it was in passing, a joke, or an anecdote about work, but it struck him how often she mentioned this man. “This is something that might, you know, lead somewhere?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure. I think,” she smiled fully, nodded, feeling silly, “I hope so.”</p>
<p>He touched her hand, laughing, “You’re happy. Fuck me.”</p>
<p>“Don’t go fucking spreading that about.”</p>
<p>“No. But come on, since Baird… personally, forget Waystar, forget professional life. Personally, I haven’t seen you happy with someone, I mean really happy, since Baird passed.”</p>
<p>She flicked her bottom lip between her teeth thinking on that, “I know. I thought that myself the other week, it’s important to me in a way no relationship has been since Baird.”</p>
<p>“Good. I’m glad of that.” He patted her hand. “About time, to be honest. You’re a catch.”</p>
<p>“I am rather,” she preened laughing.</p>
<p>“Do I get to meet him?”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Let’s see how tonight goes first. I’m not sure how he’s going to react, and meeting my friends, I’m not sure how he’ll react to that neither. We’ll see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re nervous,” she observes, pressing her hand to his knee. “We can drive on, skip it.”</p>
<p>“Are you kidding? And waste a fucking good suit.”</p>
<p>“Alright, just saying. How you want to handle things though, I mean, as we go in and when we’re… I could be here as something to do with Waystar if you’re not ready.”</p>
<p>“You having second thoughts?”</p>
<p>“Second, third, fourth, fifth… But I still want to go. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, three weeks ago you killed a story built around a picture of us on holiday.”</p>
<p>“Yeah because some ball sack is stealing private images, that was a private image meant for us not the gutter press. No, this is different, we control the narrative.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been listening to Karolina too often,” she stared out of the window as they reached the drop off point. “So bloody cold now.”</p>
<p>“Soon be Christmas. You have plans?”</p>
<p>She glanced at him as the car stopped, “That’s the first time you’ve asked me that.”</p>
<p>He is getting out of the car, stops to fasten the button on his jacket and she moves to the edge of her seat waiting for him to move. But he turns, offers her a hand, helps her out.</p>
<p>He drops her hand to wave and they’re making their way down the red carpet and she does what she always does at these events, keeps a neutral smile on her face but otherwise faces forward and lingers in the background. She’s used to playing this game. But then he must have realised and he’s suddenly back by her side and reaching for her hand, clasping it in his as they head inside.</p>
<p>“Christ, now I feel nervous, let’s get a drink.” She says.</p>
<p>“Several large ones,” he states.</p>
<p>“I’m suddenly very aware of how I look,” she whispers to him as they make their way up the crowded staircase. “We should have stayed home and watched an old movie.”</p>
<p>“You look great, I mean you’re on the arm of a rock star king so you’re bound to look good.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten that,” she pinched his arm. “I want a very large, very strong Martini.”</p>
<p>“Coming up, wanna get the programmes or whatever it is they give you at this kind of thing?”</p>
<p>She smiled kindly, “Sure.”</p>
<p>She was looking over the press release for the event when a couple approached her, it caught her off guard, usually she was the one working the room, confident and powerful.</p>
<p>“Gerri?”</p>
<p>“Samson, Laura, oh how lovely to see you both.” She had always been unfathomably good at lying. She leant in to kiss the pair of them.</p>
<p>“We didn’t know you were attending this.”</p>
<p>“Rather a last-minute arrangement,” she said.</p>
<p>“We’ve been following the artist for the past couple of years,” Laura explained, and she was in the middle of some spiel about him when Roman returned with their drinks.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if you know,” she fumbled, taking her Martini, “but this is Roman Roy.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Samson reached for his hand, “Yes, of course. Very good to meet you.”</p>
<p>“It was Roman who was invited tonight,” she went on.</p>
<p>“We’re patrons, the family,” Roman said, glancing to her face, he had never really known her be anything but composed. “Gerri agreed to accompany me; I know very little about art.”</p>
<p>To his credit, he played the role well, and she was rather impressed.</p>
<p>“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, pressing his hand to her lower back, “we have to make our presence known.”</p>
<p>“Nice to see you again, Gerri,” Laura smiled and waved as the pair of them walked away.</p>
<p>“One down,” she said, leaning into him. “If ever you want a secret spread they’re the kind of people bound to do it well.”</p>
<p>“Seemed as dull as a fucking solitary wank in a disused toilet block.”</p>
<p>“What a charming image. Thank you for that.”</p>
<p>“I’m not kidding, that guy hasn’t got it up in about five years, believe me.”</p>
<p>She giggled, trying to hide it by sipping her Martini.</p>
<p>“How long you spend at these things?” He asked, glancing around.</p>
<p>“It hasn’t really started yet,” she said, “couple of hours. We ought to find the hosts, what did your invite say? You aren’t giving a speech or anything are you?”</p>
<p>“Christ no.”</p>
<p>“Good. Well we can just mingle after that, blend in, you might like it you know – the exhibition.”</p>
<p>“I might,” he shuffled about, cooped-up energy.</p>
<p>“It’s good for you to be seen at things like this,” she said, “especially if one day you’re thinking of moving into the top position. It doesn’t hurt to be seen attending big events, bit of philanthropy, it might help turn the tide on the current negative shit show we’re swimming in.”</p>
<p>“Fair point,” he downed his whisky. “Right, come on, let’s play the game.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His phone had buzzed three times in his pocket during the past five minutes. He excused himself from the conversation he was currently on the outskirts of and slid open the screen – Shiv:</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;You and Gerri out tonight…?!</strong>
</p>
<p>There was a picture of them on the red carpet – he was waving, she was walking some distance behind him – that was innocent enough. But that was swiftly followed by another shot, and in this one he could clearly be seen holding her hand as they went inside.</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;You actually look good together. Not wanting this one killed I assume.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;No. Gonna see how it goes. Thanks.</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Your funeral! Have fun tonight (and love to future sister-in-law).</strong>
</p>
<p>There were a series of sick emojis following that which he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at or be angry with. But he let it go. He glanced around and spotted her trapped by the bar by a rather tall man with a comb over. Her eyes pleaded as they locked with his and he saluted her, which made her glare, so he made his way over.</p>
<p>“So sorry to interrupt,” he said and she jumped immediately into action.</p>
<p>“Something wrong at work, Roman, are we needed?”</p>
<p>“No. I just thought it was time I paid you some attention,” he leant in and kissed her cheek and she felt her face flush.</p>
<p>The man seemed put-off, clearly his plans for the evening included Gerri and no interruptions.</p>
<p>“This is Roman Roy,” she said, “And I’m so very sorry but I appear to have forgotten your name. I know you work…erm…that you did the PR, it’s your firm, right?”</p>
<p>Roman snorted back his laughter and reached to shake the man’s hand.</p>
<p>“Gerald,” he said, and he must have been pushing seventy. “Nice to meet you, Mr Roy.”</p>
<p>“Likewise. My first real time fronting one of these, it’s been interesting.” He said. “Gerri of course has been a godsend at guiding me through the dos and don’ts.”</p>
<p>Gerald smiled thinly, “I knew she worked with the Roys,” he said, “I didn’t realise you were here together.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he placed his hand on her back again, “quite together.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Well, good, I mean, I mean… good.”</p>
<p>She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the subtle sense of ‘ownership’ that was going on, usually she’d flick men away if they touched her – Karl had this annoying way of touching her arm every now and then, he’d done it for years and she figured he probably didn’t even notice. She’d glare, he’d pull his hand back, done. But twice tonight Roman had rested his hand on her back, it could be construed as usual masculine behaviour as they sought to steer you in a particular direction, but coupled with his words to Gerald there was no doubt as to their relationship.</p>
<p>“Have you enjoyed the event?” Gerald asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I mean, I’m more of a sleek lines man myself – my apartment is pretty much bereft of any kind of decoration. But I appreciate the level of work that goes into these things. And always happy to support a good cause, a young artist trying to make his mark.”</p>
<p>Gerri sipped her Champagne quickly before she laughed – Roman had no interest whatsoever in supporting a young artist, but he played this role well.</p>
<p>“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to drag her away.” He continued and she raised her eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>“We have a table booked across the city, the car is ready.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, sorry, right.” She put her glass down on the bar.</p>
<p>“Another event,” Roman explained and the gentleman nodded as he shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>“And you, and you too Gerri. Thanks for the company.”</p>
<p>She smiled warmly and shook his hand – <em>he never stood a chance</em>.</p>
<p>“Your luck could’ve been in there,” he whispered to her as they made their way through clusters of guests. “If you’d played your cards right, he might have popped a little blue pill for you.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be embarrassing,” she smirked, covering her mouth with one hand as he took hold of the other.</p>
<p>“Sorry, did you want me to leave you alone with Captain Underpants there, fancy going home with him?”</p>
<p>“Not particularly, no.”</p>
<p>“Old fucker, would’ve tried to grope you in the car.”</p>
<p>“Which you never would of course.”</p>
<p>“I’d fuck you in the car, not grope, no messing, straight for the kill.”</p>
<p>“Shhh,” she was glancing about but laughing nevertheless.</p>
<p>“We done our time then? It’s okay to go?”</p>
<p>“I have to admit I wasn’t much of a fan of it all.”</p>
<p>“All bollocks isn’t it, calling something art and sticking a price tag on it for thousands of dollars.”</p>
<p>“You sounded like your father then.”</p>
<p>“He wouldn’t have even come.”</p>
<p>“What time did you book the table for?” she glanced at her watch.</p>
<p>“It’s ours all night, I’m a <em>very</em> good customer.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s smooth though, a very smooth move for a date.”</p>
<p>He mock-bowed, “I’ve had practice, I’m pretty damn good at the whole wooing them into bed thing.”</p>
<p>“Did you woo me into bed?”</p>
<p>“I think I remember sitting with my head in your lap for a long time, that must have done it.”</p>
<p>She smiled at him over that, her eyes crinkling warmly at the memory.</p>
<p>“Everyone’s had a good look now,” he said.</p>
<p>“A-ha, the gossip will have started. Probably all think we’re going home now for me to take advantage of the poor little rich boy.”</p>
<p>“You are. You can – I like it.”</p>
<p>“We need to say our goodbyes,” she pointed out as they neared the top of the staircase.</p>
<p>“Fuck sake, why? We’ve done our bit.”</p>
<p>“It’s polite. The way it’s done.”</p>
<p>“If they aren’t around we’re going, be a rebel, blame it on me. A classless Roy.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I will.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shiv has already texted.” He says when they’re seated in the restaurant.</p>
<p>“Oh? And?”</p>
<p>“Jokes, but otherwise nothing of real note.”</p>
<p>“You think she minds?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “Why should she? I mean I could’ve gone to town on Tom every fucking time I saw him.”</p>
<p>“I often wondered…” she started, then stopped herself, looking at the menu instead.</p>
<p>“You can say.”</p>
<p>“It’s not my place.”</p>
<p>“I rip him to shreds all the time.”</p>
<p>“It’s different, you’re family.”</p>
<p>“Not the sharpest tool in the tray…” he suggests.</p>
<p>“Mmm, perhaps, we shall see how things progress over the coming year I suppose.” She paused as the waiter poured their wine, then took a long drink before she continued. “That’s very good.”</p>
<p>“You prefer red, I’ve noticed.”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>“I like to think you pretend you’re drinking the blood of every man who’s ever tried to screw you over.”</p>
<p>She laughed, “Well, obviously that’s my plan. Evil genius that I am.”</p>
<p>“Once, with Tab,” he said, “we had Tom and Shiv over for dinner.”</p>
<p>“That’s a very grown-up thing to do, very non-Roman.” She wonders why he’s telling her this.</p>
<p>“Yeah, kinda awkward.”</p>
<p>“Because of the bachelor night swallow thing?”</p>
<p>He leant back in his chair smirking, and she thought how good he looked, he’d dropped his jacket in the car and had rolled his shirt sleeves up.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing you don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Mmm, knowledge is power.” She took another drink of her wine.</p>
<p>“How would you feel about that?”</p>
<p>She frowned, “About which bit, exactly? This is not going to be some perverted sex game you want me to play, is it?”</p>
<p>“I was thinking more about having Shiv and Tom over for dinner, with us.”</p>
<p>“You think it’ll work better second time around?”</p>
<p>“No, I still think he’ll be a bit of a dick. But, it’ll be better with you.”</p>
<p>She narrows her eyes at that, mouth twisting, “Can I ask why, I mean, why did you have them over in the first place?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, felt like giving a childish response, but they were far past that kind of behaviour. “It felt like the kind of thing couples do.”</p>
<p>“You know, for someone who mocks the ‘normos’ in the world, I think you strive to have some of that, normality.”</p>
<p>He thinks back to his attempt at a normal conversation with his siblings on the yacht, the last time they’d all been together.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she says, when he is silent and distracted. “Whenever you want to have a normal ‘couples’ dinner, then I’ll be there.”</p>
<p>He glances up, smiles.</p>
<p>“As long as they won’t find that awkward. I’m not sure how Shiv will find it, me being there in a different capacity.”</p>
<p>“She’ll get used to it. We all had to get used to Tom. Shall we order?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m starving.”</p>
<p>He’s already beckoning a waiter and orders the tasting menu.</p>
<p>“I was impressed tonight,” she said, “you played the role well.”</p>
<p>“Oh, not out of place trying to act like a big boy.”</p>
<p>“You’re doing well,” she assured him, “your natural charm helps of course. You’re right, everyone naturally likes you, that’s quite a strength.” She is running her finger around the top of her glass, “Kendall doesn’t have that.” She said pointedly. “Always that little too serious.” She took a beat before continuing. “Your father doesn’t have that.”</p>
<p>He looked up at that, fully focussed on her face.</p>
<p>“It’s a different way to lead,” is all she says, leaving it with him. She sips her wine, takes in the room for the first time. It’s Saturday night, busy, bustling noise, and she loves it. “You ever wanted to live anywhere else?”</p>
<p>“Never. You?”</p>
<p>“I grew up outside of the city, but no, not really. Even when I retire, if I retire, I think I’ll keep my apartment here and just travel more.”</p>
<p>“You’ve thought about things like that?”</p>
<p>“You do, as you get…older…” she’s reluctant to dwell on things like that so she moves on quicky. “This is quite the romantic spot, Mr Roy.”</p>
<p>“Well, my charm works well on dates too. I told you, I’m good at the dating bit.”</p>
<p>“That I know, even before all of this, I knew.”</p>
<p>“Nice to have the full, rounded picture though,” he says, tapping his fingers against the back of her hand. “Not just one fragment of it. Still nervous?”</p>
<p>She shrugs, “In one sense, no. I’m fully invested in this, you. On the other…” she sighed heavily, and he watched how her mouth twisted to one side in that way she had when she was thinking, he found it so endearing. “There appear to be so many things that would stop it working, I’m waiting for the first text from an outraged friend, or the filthy jokes I’m going to have to put up with in the office. Ray for a start.”</p>
<p>“Break his balls.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I know, and I do, regularly. But he’s got this look, if he gives me that look I might snap him.”</p>
<p>“Tell me when so I can be there. Watching you work is like a fine piece of art. Better than that stuff we looked at tonight.”</p>
<p>“Why thank you.” She was relaxing, leaning forward toward him, smiling openly. “Cyd, that’ll be fun, I’ve known her for too long and she’s sharp, I respect her, so I’m interested in what’s going to come from her.”</p>
<p>“Probably something along the lines of ‘why are you messing about with that little streak of piss?’”</p>
<p>“Something along those lines yes.”</p>
<p>“You got an answer ready?”</p>
<p>She smiled, eyes bright, but she didn’t give him a response.</p>
<p>He’d noted a couple of looks in their direction during the evening, but nothing overtly forward. She either hadn’t noticed or was pretending not to have.</p>
<p>“I told Karolina,” she said, “the other day. I thought I best pre-empt anything that might come up.”</p>
<p>“Makes sense.”</p>
<p>“You don’t mind?”</p>
<p>“Course not.”</p>
<p>“She’ll be on top of anything potentially damaging, though I’m expecting some cruel comment piece to pop up somewhere within the next week.”</p>
<p>“Cruel comment pieces are part of my daily course; they can ram it up their asses. Was she shocked?”</p>
<p>“Oddly not, but then this is Karolina, she’s encountered every depraved thing you lot do and found a way out of it.”</p>
<p>“You think we’re depraved? You and I?”</p>
<p>“Poor choice of words.” She took a sip of her wine. “She was just work-mode, I respect that about her, nothing rattles her she just gets on with it.”</p>
<p>He was interested in this, almost excited by it, “And how did you describe our ‘relationship’?”</p>
<p>“I told her I was fucking you whilst waiting for my new vibrator to arrive.”</p>
<p>He nodded calmly, but there was a smirk that reached all the way to his eyes.</p>
<p>“I told her that our relationship had become personal and that we were maybe going to start attending more public events together and to expect some form of comment.”</p>
<p>“And she said?”</p>
<p>“She said she’d seen the holiday picture, the red dress, you know.”</p>
<p>“Christ do I know, fuck, that night on the patio with…” he made a move with his hands as if he were recreating the scene in the air.</p>
<p>“Don’t do that!” she snapped, glancing around. “Anyhow, I felt a bit foolish then, but you know, it is what it is. We move on. We need positive press these days so she’s going to push the healthy, caring relationship angle. So try to pretend, yeah.” He nodded, amused by the expression on her face. “The more delicate thing is going to be your father.”</p>
<p>“Yeah let’s sidestep that shitshow for the moment… You look beautiful tonight,” he said, and she was surprised at his openness despite being annoyed at his refusal to face the most challenging angle of all this. “You do. And I’m lucky to be the one you left with, not the old guy.”</p>
<p>She giggled at that, easily distracted by him, “Oh lord, you have no idea how often I have to find a reason to leave these events.”</p>
<p>“I think I could have a good guess. I don’t think I ever realised before how attractive you are as a proposition. Hot, rich, smart woman – no wonder these guys just flock to you. You’re inundated with potential dick action.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, it’s a regular fuck-fest for me.” She rolled her eyes. “You know truthfully, I often think I’m detached from the whole thing.”</p>
<p>“In what regard? You told me you dated regularly.”</p>
<p>“I do, but dating is one thing isn’t it, even sex, that’s one thing. Pop into a nice little box. Do you know what I mean? Like I have my work life, that’s maybe 92% of my life! And then there’s this little section where I might go on a date, and I might see him again, or I might not. And I don’t really care, which sounds cold.”</p>
<p>“Or practical.”</p>
<p>“Maybe. I haven’t…” she gestured, both hands out, “…engaged enough with anyone. It’s fun to go out with someone, a nice man with good manners, well educated, smart. Wined and dined. Somebody making you feel attractive.” She shrugged. “But I’m not… I mean, I haven’t felt like I <em>need</em> to be with someone. Or necessarily make a real effort to stay in contact with them.”</p>
<p>“Are you telling me you’re a player?” He laughed.</p>
<p>“Does it make it a difference, being a woman?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, though it shouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“No, it shouldn’t, but you’re right it does. Women, older women, aren’t meant to enjoy sex.”</p>
<p>He chuckled at that, “I have a different take on that now.”</p>
<p>She rested her cheek on her hand, an enigmatic smile on her face, “You don’t think I’m faking?”</p>
<p>“I fucking hope not, all my dreams destroyed.” They laughed together at that. “I’m going to be presumptive.”</p>
<p>“You always are.”</p>
<p>“What you’re getting at, in a roundabout way, is that you do want to engage with me. Or have already.”</p>
<p>She took a sip of her wine, flashing him a look over the top of her glass. “You are currently holding my attention, yes.”</p>
<p>“I best keep working hard then.”</p>
<p>“You better had. I’m going to excuse myself before the food arrives.”</p>
<p>He watched her walk away, the confident way she held herself, the extra twist to her walk, he could imagine his hands on her hips, his mouth on that softest spot at the base of her neck where she always sighed when he touched his lips to it.</p>
<p>He refilled their wine glasses and took out his phone, scanning the messages that were starting to pile up. One from Stewy, which was odd as he never texted him.</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt; You’re fucking Gerri?!?!?! You dirty fuck.</strong>
</p>
<p>He couldn’t remember the last time he saw that useless piece of shit but he wasn’t about to get into some back-and-forth with him now. A quick retort would do.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>&gt;Better than sucking my own balls.</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Christ, I didn’t realise she was that desperate.</strong>
</p>
<p>Insulting him was one thing, he could take that, was prepared for it. But insulting her was a different matter.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>&gt;Leave her the fuck out of it.</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>If he was in the room, he would have dropped him.</p>
<p>There were a few messages from other friends, but nothing on Gerri, maybe this would slip by simply and naturally and they wouldn’t have to worry.</p>
<p>And then at the bottom, Kendall.</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Good for you, man.</strong>
</p>
<p>That’s it. And he doesn’t know what to do with that on so many levels so he ignores it and puts his phone away as she retakes her seat.</p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, some arsehole comment from Stewy.”</p>
<p>“Probably a given, really, all things considered.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>She reached to touch his fingertips on the table, “Really, Roman, we expected some.”</p>
<p>“It’s not him, fuck him, tiny fucking worm on the pinprick of society.”</p>
<p>She smirked, ever amused by his quick turn of phrase, the agility he had with language.</p>
<p>“Kendall.”</p>
<p>“Oh…”</p>
<p>“Haven’t spoken to him in months. Except through lawyers. Just…”</p>
<p>“It’s okay to miss him. That’s normal. None of this is going to be straightforward.”</p>
<p>“I know, <em>good for me</em>, that’s what he said, and I don’t know if he means with you or something else. I don’t know and I can’t call and ask him or, or even reply.”</p>
<p>She nods, “We all have to choose a side, at some point,” she says. “Kendall has chosen his side. You and Shiv have chosen to stay on your father’s side, as have I. Maybe that will change in the future, but who knows, this isn’t some clearly plotted path we’re taking, in every sense. You just have to be happy with the side you’ve chosen. No regrets about it.”</p>
<p>“Choose a side and fucking stick to it,” he states, lifting his glass to hers.</p>
<p>“I like to take my own side.” She says, knocking her glass against his.</p>
<p>“I’d choose your side too, it’s the best looking one with the smartest route to success.”</p>
<p>“That I can’t argue with.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>'And when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone's bed, you put me on and said i was your favourite.'</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Gerri is always in her office early, usually before most of the staff and especially at hyper-intensive times. It’s just a given. But that Monday morning she was there even earlier than usual and for a particular reason – to prevent being gossiped about. If she was already seated in prime position, the right hand of the king, when everyone else drifted in there could be no group gatherings discussing her sex life.</p><p>So, she perches herself in the main meeting room with her early morning coffee, makes her various check-ins with Hong Kong and London and then starts wading through her emails. She registers the gradual increase in chatter, lights going on, computers coming back to life, and prepares herself for whomever will address the topic first.</p><p>It is early December and the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city give her a bird’s eye view of the grey days and creeping frosts. She is staring at this when the door opens.</p><p>“<em>Good</em> morning, Gerri.”</p><p>There’s an exaggerated emphasis on ‘good’ that makes her want to peel her own skin off and she feels as if she’s been caught out daydreaming so focusses quickly, “Good morning, Cyd. Good weekend?”</p><p>“Uneventful but generally fine,” she perches on a chair across from her, sipping at her Starbucks. “Yours?”</p><p>Gerri notes the raised eyebrows, the pointed tone given to that one word. She thinks on her response for a moment, how far to rise to the bait, but she is far too cool an operator to give in to any game-playing. “Really lovely, thank you.”</p><p>Cyd nods, there is little room for her to take that anywhere, but she hasn’t been head of ATN for all this time without being tenacious.  “How long?” She asks, direct.</p><p>“Excuse me.”</p><p>“Come on, tough being a woman at the top Gerri, we both know that, learned it the hard way. Hence the reason there are so few of us around this table. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re cautious, you never make a move without considering every angle and possible outcome. So, how long?”</p><p>She flicks her bottom lip between her teeth, “Months,” she answers honestly, twisting her pen between her fingers. “Slowly, but months.”</p><p>“Kinda sweet.”</p><p>“Oh please.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her ankles.</p><p>“It is, boy with a crush.”</p><p>Gerri is shaking her head.</p><p>“And why shouldn’t it be the other way round –,” Cyd starts.</p><p>She points her pen at her now, smiling, “Now, don’t you pull that on me, I know your reputation.”</p><p>“Well quite. Cougar and proud of it. But still, a man as rich as he is in the power position he’s in, that’s top level for an older lady to bag.”</p><p>“It’s not as if I went out hunting.”</p><p>Cyd shrugged, “He just fell into your lap.”</p><p>“Something like that, yes.”</p><p>“You do realise they’ll all see it as a power move.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“And is it?”</p><p>She glanced down, just momentarily, and shook her head. “Not for me, no.”</p><p>The conversation trails off when others begin to drift in, “Morning Gerri,” Tom’s voice is drenched in saccharine and he gives her a thumbs up which makes her want to beat him over the head with his own laptop. She nods and smiles in return, her attention completely fixed on her iPad.</p><p>When Karl and Ray come in they’re snorting with laughter, heads together like two school boys, and she shoots them one of her best bitch of the round-table looks which quickly quells any possible comment.</p><p>“We need to get started quickly today,” she barks at those gathered. “We have a long list to tackle, I’ve got Karolina coming in to brief you all later before she flies over to Washington. And then we’ve got prep for the, Hugo, you’re er leading that…” she is distracted by the sight of Logan marching down the corridor and for some reason her stomach sweeps and loops and she grips her pen tightly.</p><p>“Morning, morning all,” he mumbles as he enters and quickly sits.</p><p>“Sorry to interrupt you Gerri.”</p><p>“Not at all, I was just going through our itinerary.”</p><p>“Great, hope you’ve all got some vigour, it’s going to be a long one, so fire up your dicks.” He reached for the coffee that was placed in front of him. “Gerri, you’re leading this, the floor is yours.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>“Gerri?”</p><p>“Stop saying that. The answer isn’t going to change.”</p><p>“But Gerri?”</p><p>“For fucks sake Frank, yes, Gerri. Eat your fucking eggs.”</p><p>“But how… I mean… I’ve known her for years.”</p><p>“What difference does that make?”</p><p>“Gerri?”</p><p>“If you ask again I’m going to have to stab you in the fucking eye with my fork.”</p><p>“But how?”</p><p>“I don’t know, how do these things usually start. We kinda got on, and stuff just…” he shrugged, “Christ Frank, what does it matter?”</p><p>“You spoke to your Dad?”</p><p>“No,” his blood ran cold at that but he pushed it away, the bravado of a young man trying to be calm. “Can’t see it makes any difference.”</p><p>Frank rolled his eyes; he knew very well it was going to be one hell of a difference. “Look kid.”</p><p>“Not a kid Frank.”</p><p>“Just, talk to him, okay, tackle it first. Because, he won’t like not being told directly.”</p><p>“Why would it matter, I mean, age thing – okay, we’re not gonna be popping out grandkids, but Marcia’s like what, fifteen years younger than he is.”</p><p>“It’s different when it’s the other way around.”</p><p>“It shouldn’t be. Nobody should give a fuck but me and her.”</p><p>“You’re serious about this,” the older man suddenly tuned in to Roman’s tone. “You’re really serious about her.”</p><p>He didn’t respond to that but bit into his croissant instead.</p><p>“Look, she’s a great woman, force of nature I think at times. But be prepared, that’s all I’m saying. Your Dad might see it in a different way.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>He shrugged, “Power move by her.”</p><p>“Jesus, he should know her better.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. But still,” he raised and lowered his shoulders. “Just be prepared. And talk to him before anyone else does.”</p><p>“We’re back at the weekend, I’ll see him then, better face-to-face.”</p><p>Roman turned his attention to his phone, swiping past all the usual shit he’d been sent and instead opening to the on-going text conversation he had with her. She was at the top every day now.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;In danger of murdering Frank.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;In danger of murdering Tom – he gave me a thumbs up…?!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Fucking idiot. Give him the finger in response. Or let on about the swallow incident. Or sausage-gate. Either one will shut him the fuck up.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Frank?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Says to talk to Dad. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;He was in the meeting this morning, made no signs.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;He must know, right?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Who knows.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;What are you wearing?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;What?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Cheer me up – what are you wearing?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Grey dress suit.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Where are you?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;My office.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Put your hand up your skirt.</em>
  </strong>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Fuck. (And I can’t say this strongly enough) Off.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Talk to you later. Want screen time.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Sick, twisted pervert.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;I think it’s okay to refer to me as plain old boyfriend now… xx</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>Wednesday night she has a migraine that just won’t shift so leaves earlier than she usually would and goes to bed. It is rare she turns her phone off but she needed to actually sleep. When she wakes the following morning she is ravenous and stands in her kitchen eating breadsticks, because it’s the only quick thing she can think of that she actually has in her cupboards, as she waits for her phone to come back to life.</p><p>There are fourteen unread messages from Roman and momentarily she thinks something awful has happened and he’s hurt or in danger and memories of how she felt when he was in Turkey circle her stomach. She scrolls to the start of them.</p>
<ol>
<li>Frank and I gave performance of our lives today! Off out for dinner. Hope you’re feeling better.</li>
<li>He’s an old twat.</li>
<li>Frank knows a club. Geriatric alert.</li>
<li>Shots…</li>
<li>Not so bad a guy.</li>
<li>Bit of a laugh.</li>
<li><em>A picture of Frank dancing</em></li>
<li><em>A close-up shot of their faces</em></li>
<li>Miss you</li>
<li>Wish you were here</li>
<li>Wanna be in your bed that smells of you</li>
<li>Fuck…</li>
<li><em>A questionable close up shot, possibly of his penis, which has smudged and distorted</em></li>
<li>Miss you x</li>
</ol><p> </p><p>She scans it all twice through, the flicker of a smile on her face, before deleting it and starting a new conversation.</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;I hope you wake up feeling like total shit!</strong>
</p><p>She doesn’t hear back from him for a few hours, by then she’s already helmed two meetings and is in her office waiting for a conference call to start.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Yes, feel like total shite! </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Mistake giving you my number.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Fuck… can’t even remember what I sent. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Best not to look… Never again consider sending me dick pics though.</strong>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Sorry!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;I’ll blame Frank’s influence.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Friday can’t come soon enough.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;I have kept my evening free. I have to go, have to concentrate.</strong>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Feeling pretty bad.</em>
  </strong>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Drink plenty of water. Eat some fish - - don’t comment!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Ha ha.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;I have to go</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Wish I was in your bed.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Roman…</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Would you take care of me?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;No, fuck off, brought it on yourself. Sleep in your own bed.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;Yours smells better.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Going now! I have a job.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>&gt;xxx</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>A casual Friday-night date, he says, dinner somewhere unplanned, walk the streets. So she wears a simple wool dress, a cashmere throw and flat boots and they do indeed walk the streets. He picks her up earlier than planned and she has to do her make-up in the car and he’s intrigued by that, watching how she takes her time with her lipstick, the precision of her hand with her mascara.</p><p>“You want some?” She asks, glancing sideways at him.</p><p>“Truthfully, I’m not averse to the idea of it.”</p><p>“Mascara would suit you.” She teases.</p><p>It’s years since she can remember not going to some highly-catered gilded-edged restaurant for a date night dinner, and there’s something exhilarating about hanging off of his arm as he spots some Korean place he likes.</p><p>“There, we’ll go there.”</p><p>“It looks very busy, you sure we can get in without a reservation?” She spots his expression. “Alright, I forget I’m out with Elvis.”</p><p>He’s almost giddy tonight, walking backwards towards the restaurant, pulling on her hands, it’s infectious and she feels younger than her years and swept up in his energy.</p><p>“So, a new found friendship with Frank, then?” She says only ten minutes later when they’re already seated in a booth and he’s ordering Soju for them.</p><p>“I wouldn’t go that far; the guy is still a wrinkly prick.”</p><p>“He’s fair.” She says firmly. “And, for the most part, very loyal to your father. Which by the way…”</p><p>“Please don’t mention him tonight. I’m seeing him tomorrow afternoon, he wants feedback on what’s been happening in DC, I’ll talk to him then.”</p><p>She pursed her lips, “About us?”</p><p>“Yeah. I figure he already knows, but the old bastard keeps everything so close to his chest. My feeling is no comment from him means he mustn’t give a shit.”</p><p>She doubted that very much. “Be prepared.”</p><p>“Fucking Frank said that, you two texting?”</p><p>“My phone still hasn’t recovered from my ‘boyfriend’s’ drunken bombardment.” She eyed him suspiciously, her hands folded atop of her menu.</p><p>“Shit, did I say ‘boyfriend’?”</p><p>“You did indeed.”</p><p>“Makes me sound like some kind of soft-cretin doesn’t it.”</p><p>“Just a little. You order here for us, if you know it.”</p><p>“You won’t mind, somebody making decisions for you?”</p><p>She touched his leg with her foot under the table, “Something kinda sexy about that tonight.”</p><p>“So, you er, don’t like <em>boyfriend</em>?”</p><p>“I’m going with sex-slave I think, just for the moment.”</p><p>“Fair enough, that how you going to introduce me to your daughters, as your sex-slave?”</p><p>That makes her blanche and she feels a prickling sensation in her fingertips as she taps them against the table. “Would you mind…” she starts, then decides to just be direct, because that’s how they’ve always been with each other and it has worked. “I’m not quite ready for that.”</p><p>He looks up, serious, “Okay.”</p><p>“They’re, well my relationship with them is challenging at the best of times. And most of the time they feel quite removed from my day-to-day life as I am theirs. I think I need longer before I let these two sides meet.” She rushed to touch his hand, “Not that I’m ashamed or anything.”</p><p>“That’s fine. Sorry if you felt I was, you know, rushing or –,”</p><p>“No, course not. Not that. I like that you’re so enthusiastic about this. About me.” She confided. “Look Roman, you <em>sooo </em>do not fit my philosophies on life, of where I saw my life going. But it’s rather wonderful.” She smiled.</p><p>“Now I’m intrigued as to where you saw your life going.”</p><p>“Work, until I either got fired or too old to do it. Maybe re-marry.”</p><p>“What? You saw yourself getting married?”</p><p>“I said maybe. <em>Maybe</em>.” She shrugged, “I don’t know, I just saw myself being old with someone, having someone to travel with in retirement. On the other hand I could just buy some place on the beach and wile away my hours reading and relaxing. Write my memoirs. Some shit like that.”</p><p>“Take up landscape painting and get a dog.”</p><p>“I’ve told you how I feel about pet hair.”</p><p>“Not some white-haired old dude like that boring bastard at the art thing. You can’t marry him.”</p><p>She laughed, “Bit of a jump in direction here.”</p><p>“You’d want to smother him in his sleep.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t go on a date with him, let alone marriage.” She suddenly started laughing uncontrollably at the idea of it, at the way Roman’s mind worked.</p><p>Her joy was invigorating and he laughed with her.</p><p>“I can’t introduce you as sex-slave,” he said, “different connotations.”</p><p>“Well quite, and besides, as if anybody would ever believe that.” She sat back, squaring her shoulders, “Do I look like I’d let a man control me?”</p><p>“Fuck no.” He licked his lips and she knew that look very well.</p><p>“Calm down, we’re out. For hours yet I hope.”</p><p>“Maybe we could just nip in the bathroom for a moment.”</p><p>She raised her eyebrows, “I don’t look like that kind of woman neither.”</p><p>“You’re the classiest woman I’ve ever dated.”</p><p>“I think I’m the first <em>woman </em>you’ve dated.”</p><p>He smirked at that. “Hey, the pool table arrived.”</p><p>“Ha, I can’t actually believe you purchased one.”</p><p>“Fit nicely in the games room. Sooo…” he traced his index finger along each one of her fingers in turn.</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“You coming over to play – adult games night?”</p><p>“I’m assuming that is just you and I for that one, not the couples one?”</p><p>“Depends what you’re into…” he laughed at her expression. “Alright, adult games, you and I. But taking Tom for a packet, yeah, couples pool. You lead.”</p><p>“You need more practice, can’t have you letting me down.”</p><p>“I’m free for whatever lessons you want to give me whenever you want to give them to me.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>The pre-Christmas build up and shops are open late; after dinner they browse windows and blend in with every other couple doing the same.</p><p>There’s a jewellery store she likes and inside she purchases gifts for her daughters and tries a ring on for herself. It’s some aquamarine emerald set on platinum, “For lovers of the sea,” the saleswoman tells her and she’s tempted by it but Roman is hovering about behind her and she’s very aware of how easily he gets bored. So she tells herself she’ll go back when she’s on her own and they leave.</p><p>She loses him in the department store, wanders the floors on her own, picking up gifts as she goes. At the cash register she organises it all to be wrapped and sent to her apartment. That’s the thing when you have money, people are more than happy to do more for you, even when the option wasn’t there in the first place.</p><p>When Roman catches up with her his cheeks look red and chapped from the cold.</p><p>“You been waiting outside?” She asks, “I’m so sorry, I thought you must be in here somewhere.”</p><p>“I was. Shall we go, get some dessert?” He is hooking his arm through hers.</p><p>“Do you know it’s years since I’ve done real shopping and not just had my assistant do it for me, or ordered from some online screen.</p><p>“God, I never come in places like this.”</p><p>“You’re such a spoilt brat.”</p><p>“A one-percenter, a wank-i-ator.”</p><p>“I will remember not to bring you again.”</p><p>“Actually, I rather liked it,” he pulled up the collar of his coat as they headed outside and they both put their hats back on. “You’re cute in a hat,” he said placing a brief kiss to her mouth.</p><p>“Not good for my hair.”</p><p>“Jeez, I know what you mean, mine too.” He laughed. “So, dessert? Anything you fancy?”</p><p>She stepped in close to his body, there on the busy evening street surrounded by Christmas shoppers and live street music and festive lights, and she kissed him, deeply, completely, her arms tight around him.</p><p>He stared down at her afterwards, wide-eyed, a half-grin playing on his lips.</p><p>“I really fancy ice-cream,” she said, “let’s share a sundae.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>“I’m not a good person,” she says softly, and his eyes flick back and forth between her face and the way she is pulling her finger through the cream on the top of the sundae. He follows the movement as she lifts it to her mouth and sucks it off.</p><p>“To me, you’re a good person.”</p><p>“No offence, but your frame of reference for comparison is a bit fucking skewed.”</p><p>“Fair point,” he lifted his spoon and made a move to dig it into the dessert, only for her to slap his hand away.</p><p>“Ah, wait.”</p><p>“You said share a sundae.”</p><p>“And we will,” she raised her eyebrows at him until he obediently put the spoon back down.</p><p>“Look, to me, you’ve never done anything remotely evil or disgusting.” He said.</p><p>“Not personally no, but I clean it up, or cover it up. Is it any better to be the right-hand of the devil?”</p><p>He thinks on that for a moment. “Do you think you deserve to be punished?”</p><p>“Fuck no. Humans are never that black and white, are they. Do I recognise I’ve pushed boundaries, maybe broken the odd law or two along the years, yes. Do I think I’m morally a good person – no. Do I have good points? Mmm, possibly. Can I justify my actions to myself… that’s the test. And yes, I always manage to. Or ignore the doubts.”</p><p>“That’s the thing, I ignore it.” He said. “I know I’m a fucking jerk, I know that. I treat people like shit, I’m spoiled, selfish yada yada. Do I give a fuck? No. I’m fighting to stay alive, we all are, aren’t we? Am I better or worse than the obese asshole who’s been abusing his stepdaughter since she was five? Hell yeah. But I’m more likely to be targeted and imprisoned for my actions, because I’m noticed.”</p><p>She nodded at that. “There is no straight line in society. As much as we like to think we choose one side or the other. We all wander back and forth. And yeah, you’re right, are white collar crimes more dangerous – I don’t know. Am I angry that Mo got away with what he did for so long and nobody did a fucking thing to stop it? Of course I am. And were it brought to my attention now I’d likely handle things a different way. But when all that was happening I wasn’t in the same position I am now.”</p><p>“And I thought it was brought to you after the fact.”</p><p>She nodded, taking the cherry from the sundae and eating it.</p><p>“I still think you’re a good person.”</p><p>“Oh I think we’re both straight on our way to hell.”</p><p>He shrugged, “Fair enough, least the company will be interesting then.”</p><p>She smiled, dipped two fingers into the cream again but this time he leant forward and captured them in his mouth. She gasped, mouth open as he sucked long and tight on her fingers.</p><p>“That’s disgusting,” she said, voice low, “you’re a disgusting little scrap of manhood I should be stepping over.”</p><p>“You can step on me later, if you like, heels and all.”</p><p>There was a smugness to her face as she picked his spoon up and handed it to him.</p><p>“After this?” He said, taking a spoon of the ice-cream.</p><p>“You know what, I’d like to go dancing.”</p><p>“You would? Like a club?”</p><p>“I think you and I might have different ideas about the type of music we’d dance to. I don’t want to be in one of these dark warehouse things where old men go for kicks.”</p><p>“Far too low-brow for you, and I honestly mean that. <em>She’s a classy broad you know</em>.”</p><p>She was laughing again, already shrugging off the shit week she’d had and the pressing questions being thrown her way that were making her turn inward and reflect.</p><p>“Missed talking to you this week,” she admitted and he smirked at that.</p><p>“She’s missed me.”</p><p>“Don’t bathe in the glow too much, it’s unattractive.”</p><p>“I didn’t wanna come across as too much, you know,” he said, “I went a bit OTT with the drunk texts. Didn’t want to be calling you every day, thought I best give you space too. I know I can be too much at times.”</p><p>“Only sometimes,” she said gently.</p><p>“You do realise you can call me.”</p><p>It had never occurred to her to do that, make the first move, as much as she was in control of this thing between them he was the one who did the running. She liked it that way.</p><p>“I’ll remember that,” she said. “So, you got an idea of where we can go?”</p><p>“The brain is working on it.” He glanced up when a group of rowdy men came in, and she reflected on how they looked for a moment – he one side of the table with his foot on his seat and his leg bent and that casual cool charm he had. Her on the other, looking considerably older.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“A-ha,” he said, his eyes flicking back and forth between the sundae and the men who were noisily addressing the waitress. “Thought I might know them.”</p><p>She licked her spoon, “And would that bother you, if you knew them?”</p><p>He looked at her for the first time, “Not in the way you think.”</p><p>“Oh? And in what way do I think it might bother you?”</p><p>“Look, this is going to make me sound like Scrappy fucking Doo, but if they came over here and made some comment, about you, towards you, I’d want to rip their fucking guts out.”</p><p>She’s not sure how she’s meant to feel about that; that he would want to defend her honour or somehow display some masculinity instead of walking away.</p><p>“It’s, I’m not embarrassed about being with you,” he said earnestly, reaching to touch her arm, his fingers digging into the cashmere. “I don’t want anyone cheapening it. Tarnishing it. With some jerk-off comment about age or kinky mixed up mother-complex bollocks.”</p><p>“Okay. But you don’t need to defend me, Roman, I’m pretty tough, you might have noticed.”</p><p>“I know, that’s not what… Christ, I’m not saying it right.”</p><p>“You are. In a way. It’s okay to feel uncomfortable about it, us, this is still relatively new, I guess we’re exploring the direction it goes together.” She put her spoon down, licked her lips. “Honestly, I feel odd about you meeting my friends too. Most of mine are conservative older types, and you, your wit, your mouth, your energy…” she shrugged, chewing on her lip, “Honestly, I don’t know how they’ll take you. Nor you them. You’ll be bored.”</p><p>“Maybe not, I’ve attended enough of these boring corporate asshole dinners, I can make small talk.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, making up books you’ve read and jokes about jerking off.”</p><p>He felt a bit hurt at that, and she must have noticed because she reached for his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so harsh.”</p><p>“I’m not dumb.”</p><p>“I never thought you were.”</p><p>“And besides, I have two books I can speak of now that my girlfriend got for me.”</p><p>Her eyes sparkle at the use of ‘girlfriend’, the realisation that’s her he’s speaking of.</p><p>“And you finished them?” She asks, watching as his fingers toy with hers.</p><p>“I did. I might even let you get me another.”</p><p>“Alright. Maybe a Christmas present.”</p><p>He turned her hand over, his thumb running circles in her palm. “Look, you know I’m in England for Christmas with mum.”</p><p>“U-huh.”</p><p>“So, after, when we get back. How about you and I bunk out somewhere for a few days before New Year.”</p><p>Her eyebrows rose, “Excuse me, <em>bunk out</em>?”</p><p>“You know, Vegas or something, I’ll book a suite, we can gamble frivolously and snort hard drugs off each other’s bodies.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, picked up her ice cream spoon and took another spoonful, holding his gaze. “Presidential suite, Bellagio, and I might, just <em>might</em>, be free.”</p><p>“Might be tough to get at this late notice.”</p><p>She shrugged, “I’m tough to get too.”</p><p>He laughed at that, “Yes you are. Alright, challenge accepted, leave me with it.”</p><p>“And New Year,” she said; Logan always hosted a party. “Will it be odd, first family gathering with us… like this?”</p><p>“Like this? Meaning licking ice cream off each other?”</p><p>“I don’t think we need go quite that far, no. I was thinking more sitting next to each other.”</p><p>“I always sit with you anyway.”</p><p>“You don’t usually touch me when we’re sitting side-by-side though, that’s the point.”</p><p>“It’s but a slight change to standard events, me with my tongue down General Counsel’s throat come midnight.”</p><p>“Gee, what a fascinating image, you’ve sold it to me.”</p><p>He laughed, “Got somewhere!”</p><p>“To dance?”</p><p>“Yeah. Cheesy shit at the best of times, used to sneak there with Shiv when we were both underage but… and this is a good but… real mix of individuals, not just kids getting high.”</p><p>“Thank lord for that.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>They do three shots in a row at the bar before they even contemplate the dance floor, and then he somehow manages to get a group shifted from a booth so they can have it and orders Champagne and as she watches him in action she thinks how easily he gets things to happen, how easily he uses money and charm to make life go the way he wants. Exhilarating to be part of that, but she does wonder how long he will find her as interesting.</p><p>“The fine line is,” she says, as he hands her a glass, “how drunk do I need to be to be brave enough to dance, but not too drunk that I can no longer stand up…?”</p><p>“Half the glass,” he instructs, “Drop the cape. Then we’re good to go.”</p><p>“It’s a throw,” she says, but takes it off, laying it in the booth. And then his arms are around her waist and he’s nuzzling her neck.</p><p>“I like this dress,” he says, “it skims you.”</p><p>“Why, thank you.” She moves her head, until his mouth is near hers and their lips tease for a few seconds, tentative nips back and forth until he groans and kisses her deeply, gripping her to him.</p><p>“Hidden here anyhow,” he says.</p><p>And he’s right, they’re in a corner, it’s dark, hardly anyone has a clear line of sight.</p><p>He steps back, downs his Champagne in one and holds his hand out.</p><p>She likes the challenge in his eyes, the fact that never would she have imagined her world would have turned so much in only a year. Out dancing on a Friday night with a man who seems to adore her and is going through some kind of sexual awakening with her.</p><p>She took a last drink of her Champagne, put the glass down and moved into his body, letting him set the rhythm as they moved in time with the beat.</p><p>Half the songs she didn’t know but it didn’t seem to matter, it was about moving to the music in time with him and he was having fun.</p><p>“You never danced at Shiv’s wedding,” she said, when they paused to order more drinks.</p><p>“Not really my thing.”</p><p>“What! And you brought me here?”</p><p>“You wanted to come.”</p><p>“Oh goodness, Roman,” she pressed her hand to his chest. “Hard to believe how sweet you can be when you put your mind to it.”</p><p>“Not entirely a knob.”</p><p>“Not entirely, no.”</p><p>“Right come on, what songs you want to hear?” He is tapping away on his phone. “I’ve got a few already.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me you’ve got a direct line?” She tries to look at the screen but he holds it away from her.</p><p>“What did you used to get your dirty groove on to, when you were…?”</p><p>“When I was young?” She suggested laughing, “Hmm,” she picked up her cocktail, chewed on the straw. “Marvin Gaye, what’s it called…?” She closed her eyes, running through the lyrics in her head. “I used to go out to parties…got to give it up!” She exclaimed. “I used to love dancing to that.”</p><p>“Done.” He downed his whisky. “Christ, gonna suffer for this tomorrow.” He took hold of her hand and pulled her up from the booth. “Come on, tramp.”</p><p>“If people hear you saying that, totally wrong impression.”</p><p>“Or is it?” He spun her round and back to him, “Wait…” he said by her ear, “It’s Britney bitch!”</p><p>“You haven’t…?” She laughed as she tuned into the song. “Dear god, that’s so embarrassing. This is like my shower song. You’re the only person on Earth who knows that.”</p><p>He had this smug, amused expression on his face, something tantalising about knowing things about her nobody else did.</p><p>“Come on then.”</p><p>“I can’t dance to this, I’m too old.”</p><p>“The lyrics are made for you – <em>sip Martinis, better work bitch</em>.” He tugged on her arm until she reluctantly moved with him. “And besides I already know you dance to it at home.”</p><p>“Fuck, I feel I shouldn’t have told you this.” But she let him move her body, closed her eyes and sank into the beat. “How does she do this for a living, I’m exhausted halfway through the song.”</p><p>“Trick of the light,” he said, “went to the Vegas show, she’s hardly moving. Still hot though.”</p><p>“Oh well yeah, that’s the ultimate question really for any woman, does some rich twerp in the front row find you hot, forget all your accomplishments.”</p><p>“Twerp?” He held her hips, pulled her back to him, and the music changed and her song came on and immediately the way she held herself altered. “Ohh, Ms Kellman,” he breathed by her ear, “this is a sex song.”</p><p>“I couldn’t possibly comment on that,” she twirled out in front of him, facing him, then moving again so her back was to him as her hips moved so easily, with the ease of waves sliding into shore. Putting his hands on her body felt like tapping into his deepest desires, opening up an entirely new side of his brain.</p><p>He glanced down between them, watched as she backed up into his body, fingers digging into her hips as her bottom made contact with his groin and she continued this unrelenting sway of her body. She did it with the same confidence she had when she was on top of him.</p><p>Her hands slid into her hair, and he realised her eyes were closed – she was as turned on by this as he was. He licked the back of her neck and she shuddered against him, even when the song ended and slipped into the next one their movements didn’t stop. Until his hand slid over her nipples and she groaned the way she did when they were in bed together and that seemed to wake her up and she pulled away from him.</p><p>The separation of her body from his was painful.</p><p>She held her hand out to his, an enigmatic smile on her face.</p><p>“I need some air,” she said, flustered, a little embarrassed with herself, betrayed by her own body.</p><p>“There’s a roof thing,” he said. He took hold of their bottle of Champagne and she gathered her things and followed him out of their private area, down the steps and through the crowds dancing.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>It was freezing on the roof, and she wrapped herself up in her throw, walking to the edge and peering over. Her cheeks felt red and flushed and she tapped her hands against them as she paced back and forth. Her heart was thudding and she felt as if she were outside of herself – this wasn’t how she acted, this wasn’t how she spent her time. It was as if he’d unlocked some part of her and it was now all spilling out and she feared she’d never be able to repack it into some neat, tidy package ever again.</p><p>“Hey,” he called, and she turned, scanning the space for the first time. There were a few couples already up there, festive lights hung about and some cheap looking fake Christmas tree. Roman had commandeered a table and was sitting on top of it, his feet on the bench in front of him. This wide-eyed soft expression on his face.</p><p>She moved to him, sitting on the bench between his legs. He rested his chin on her head and she relaxed back, letting him hold her.</p><p>“Okay, not too cold?” his voice was low, just above a whisper, but they were far enough away from the other couples that it didn’t really matter.</p><p>“I needed a slap of cold air,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I let myself act like that.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with having fun?” He kissed her head, she could feel him moving her hair, pressing his face into it, and for a long time they sat like that in silence and her pulse slowly started to return to normal.</p><p>“I don’t have a philosophy,” he says by her ear, kissing the side of her head.</p><p>“Oh?” She is surprised by the topic, but then his brain moves a hundred times faster than everybody else’s and clearly this has been on his mind since she raised it earlier.</p><p>“You said I don’t fit with your philosophy. Why?”</p><p>“Hmm, let’s see, you’re younger, idiotic at times, a loose cannon, often unmanageable, you like to party… Should I go on?”</p><p>“Fuck please, this is turning me on.”</p><p>She slapped his arm. “My philosophy is somebody flat, calm and steady.”</p><p>“Fucking boring.”</p><p>“Yes. Though I prefer <em>safe</em>.”</p><p>“Safe is all well and good, but let’s be honest, risking it and going in bare-back is much more pleasurable.”</p><p>“Fuck sake, Roman,” she laughed despite herself. “And there we have it, you see, that’s the thing.” She was rubbing her hands down his arms, and he enjoyed the sensation of her silky skin touching his.</p><p>“What thing?”</p><p>“The thing that I keep coming back to. It doesn’t fit my philosophy on relationships, you and I don’t, but I just keep…” she shrugged, “I keep coming back to it.”</p><p>“You’re like a drug,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck, she leant further back against him to give him better access. “Just when I think I’ve got a handle on it and had enough, I want you again… not just sex, your time, your voice, your focus on me.”</p><p>She moaned as his hand slid over her breast.</p><p>“Not here,” she managed to say. There were other couples on the roof, kissing was one thing, she didn’t want to take it any further. She pushed his hand down onto her stomach instead, around her waist. “You must have a philosophy,” she said, drawing his attention. “On life, or I mean,” she swallowed, trying to focus her mind but there was that sweet tingling sensation between her legs which he satisfied so well. “On dating, on who you date."</p><p>“You.”</p><p>“Roman.” She sighed, her eyes closing as he touched her, kissed her.</p><p>“Never been anyone like you.”</p><p>“Let’s go home,” she said, tilting her head back, opening her eyes, the brightest blue he’d seen.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p>It occurred to her all at once, in the car on the way home – no great fanfare or dramatic music or overwhelming surge of adrenaline. Just in the car, and he was prattling on about Frank, telling her some story about what they’d got up to on their drunken night out and she was laughing so hard she thought she might pee herself. Her ribs ached from laughing and she could hardly breathe and she felt like she’d never really laughed before until that moment and it was then.</p><p>Watching him do this stupid impression.</p><p>And it just came to her, dawned on her, the words filling her mind in the most simple sentence ever to have been put together: <em>she loved him</em>. There, that was it, love. And it wasn’t terrifying or daunting, it felt warm and right and for the rest of the journey home she basked in that feeling, rested in it like taking a warm bath after a really hard day. Let it unfurl inside her belly and fill every limb.</p><p>He followed behind her like some faithful puppy, stood at her door and watched as she walked down the hallway pulling her boots off and hanging her shawl. Her knew her apartment well by now, followed her into the lounge, went to pour them drinks.</p><p>He was aware of her behind him, the dimming of lights, her taking her stockings off.</p><p>“I would’ve helped you out there,” he said, and for some reason he felt very nervous all of sudden, as if something had shifted or changed. There was an odd atmosphere in the room.</p><p>He handed her a glass of bourbon and took a long drink of his.</p><p>“I want to –,” she started, and then stopped herself, instead pressing a hand to his chest and leaning in to kiss him. “That date was even better than the last one.” She said. “It’s going to be hard to keep improving on them.”</p><p>“Well, to be fair,” he slipped his free arm around her waist, “the past two dates I’ve organised. So you’ve got your fucking work cut out to be honest.”</p><p>“Christ, tomorrow’s theatre trip is not going to be anywhere near tonight, like not even on the bottom rung of tonight’s ladder.”</p><p>“Are you imitating my voice,” he teased, squeezing her bottom, “that’s not nice.”</p><p>“Ah, stop that, that tickles.”</p><p>“That’s the point.”</p><p>She pushed him back until the back of his legs hit the couch, took his glass from his hand and set about undressing him. If he was surprised by her attentions he didn’t show it, he was usually used to undressing himself at her instruction, but it felt good to have her do it. Her nimble fingers soft as they removed his shirt, the shuffling of his trousers down his legs. She stood between his knees and he ran his hands down the outline of her body, reaching for the hem of the long wool dress she wore and pushing it up, she took hold of it from him and drew it over her head, dropping it to the coffee table.</p><p>“You know,” she said, “I was sitting right there in that exact spot when you first rang me for the jerk off call.”</p><p>“Oh, the romance of it.” He grinned, no longer in the least ashamed or concerned about his behaviour.</p><p>“Long before I even imagined where this might all go.” She reached for her glass, took a sip of her drink.</p><p>“I’d been fantasising about you since Japan,” he admitted; he was holding her arm, turned it over, kissed the pulse point in her wrist. “Never really been a woman before, not in that sense,” he looked up at her as he continued to kiss her wrist, eyes dark and hooded with desire. “Standing in the shower imagining it was you touching me, never got off on something so straightforward before.”</p><p>“Straightforward…” she said with a half laugh. “Nothing about this has ever been straightforward.” She brushed her hand through his hair, “I’m not sure where it’s going to go, to lead.”</p><p>“Nobody gives a fuck about that, enjoy the here and now.”</p><p>She smirked, “This is where you being younger creeps in.”</p><p>“Mmm,” he leant forward, kissed her stomach, his finger running around the top of her panties; she knew within seconds he could have her on her back on the couch and his delicious mouth would be between her thighs and then coherent thought would go.</p><p>She pushed on his shoulders, leant back and lifted her glass again, took the tiniest sip and then slowly tipped the rest of it down his chest. He had the most delightful expression on his face as he leant back, watching the trickle of amber liquid over his skin.</p><p>“Your expensive couch,” he said.</p><p>“My expensive cleaner,” she replied, leaning over him.</p><p>Her mouth lapped at the liquor, following it down over his flat belly, the ripples of muscle. He closed his eyes, enjoyed the sensation of her tongue, her lips, tracing over his skin. He never used to like being touched, not really, not unless he was high or chronically drunk. And now he found he couldn’t get enough of her touch, having her attentions made him feel like a god in no way money ever had.</p><p>Her hands were flat on his thighs and she slid further down and it suddenly dawned on him what her intentions were and the thought that she was going to do that made his hips jerk upward. She smothered a giggle as his erection poked her in the chest.</p><p>“Now, now,” she whispered, her hands heavy on his legs, “calm down.”</p><p>He let his head fall back, eyes closed, because watching her do it would make him come within seconds and christ he wanted this to last and commit every single nano-second of it to his memory to revisit when they were apart. He kept thinking of her hair, her beautiful golden hair that was framing his groin right now.</p><p>Her breath hot on him, he twitched and moaned seeking her mouth. But she took her time, her tongue doing most of the work – the tingle of alcohol still on her tongue made his skin tremble – her fingers, and then oh god, and then that wondrous sensation that made him shout out her name to the heavens.</p><p>When he was close he placed his hand on her head, gripped her hair tightly enough so she knew to stop, and she sat back, almost timid as she tried to gauge his reaction.</p><p>“I want to…” he panted, trying not to touch himself, “…you.” He finished, hands reaching for her body.</p><p>She found she was shaking when she stood, alcohol, dancing, exhaustion, sex, and that deep realisation still floating around her brain like she’d inhaled the finest cocaine available and was still floating above herself.</p><p>He pulled her panties down, hands on her hips, drawing her into his lap, instantly sliding inside her and then they gasped together. It took seconds for him to orgasm, and she rested on top of him, her chin on top of his head, fingers gripping the back of her couch as he stiffened and stilled within her.</p><p>It was one of those moments she knew she’d always remember. How it felt to be that close to another human being, that intimate with them, beyond sex. She could feel his breath on her chest, the pounding of his heart and she remained still and silent, focussing on the feel of him inside her, the slightly tight aching inside for him.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbled against her skin, already kissing her, his hands stroking her back. “I’ll make it up to you.”</p><p>“Alright.” She whispered, because she couldn’t think what else to say. Other words would get her in trouble and she wasn’t quite ready to reveal that most secret, deepest root of her being to him.</p><p>“Just give me five minutes.”</p><p>She smiled at that, pushed herself back and looked down at his face. It was still Roman, he still had that same half-amused, half-confused expression that he always seemed to wear after sex.</p><p>“I’ll just wait then, shall I?” She teased, one eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Yeah, if you could.”</p><p>She made a move to slip off of him, to slide back on his thighs, but he held her waist.</p><p>“Oh no, stay right there,” he said, and his voice was heavy and thick like velvet. “Just stay right there and let me enjoy this.”</p><p>“Alright,” she said again, and she felt her heart thud as she stared at his wondrous expression. She moved slightly, just enough, and he groaned, his lips curling into a smile.</p><p>“Maybe three minutes,” he said, holding her hips again, and she could already feeling him getting hard inside her all over again.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>Roman woke with his head on Gerri’s stomach, somehow he was laying at an angle in her bed, completely naked and uncovered. He couldn’t remember how they got to the bed, but as he slowly woke he remembered very well what they’d gotten up to before they headed in that direction.</p><p>“Stop smirking,” he heard her say – he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet but he could feel her watching him.</p><p>“What reason would I have to smirk?”</p><p>“I can’t possibly think.” She tapped her fingers against his shoulder. “You know it’s after ten.”</p><p>“I bet this is the latest you’ve stayed in bed for years.”</p><p>“Hmm, I haven’t been awake long. I think I might have pushed my body to its limits last night. I cancelled my appointment with my trainer today.”</p><p>He opened his eyes now and looked up at her. “Hi,” he said.</p><p>“Hi. How do you feel this morning?”</p><p>He stretched languidly, “Perfectly content and settled.”</p><p>“You would do.” She sighed, her hand coming to play with his hair. “I can’t stay here all day,” she said. “I have appointments, I can’t cancel them all.”</p><p>“You can.”</p><p>She groaned, closing her eyes. “Don’t let me stay out so late tonight.”</p><p>“Alright, theatre, and then home, straight to bed.” He turned, flopping over, “Perhaps we can spend Sunday in bed instead,” he kissed her belly, “Before I fly back to DC again.”</p><p>“Let’s hope that doesn’t last for much longer. Although I am quite getting into the routine of you giving me your weekends.”</p><p>“You see, I thought it was the other way around, you giving me yours.”</p><p>She smiled gently at him, “I need to have a shower.”</p><p>“Let me take you out for breakfast, or brunch I guess, then I’ll head home for a bit before I go see Dad.”</p><p>“Okay.” She touched his face and he kissed her hand.</p><p>“I’ll go work out your coffee machine whilst you shower.”</p><p>“Shout if you need instructions.” She pushed herself up, felt the ache in her shoulders, watched as he easily jumped out of bed and confidently strode out of her bedroom.</p><p>It took her a few more minutes of sitting there before she got out of bed. She dug her feet into the lush rug by the bed, gave herself seconds to try and regain her equilibrium. This wasn’t like her, to lose her head. To lose her heart. She had never been that person, not even with Baird. She had always been sensible and focussed and now she was letting herself go.</p><p>She had felt so settled and rooted in her life, knew exactly how the next ten years would play out. Something of a background piece, someone easily overlooked, someone doing their job well but aging and moving into old age at a slow and steady pace. Respectable. Rich.</p><p>And now.</p><p>Oh god, and now swept along with it all and not regretting a single second.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>It had always seemed to Roman that exiting the elevator in his Dad’s apartment was like entering a gilded cage. Like being welcomed into your jail, force fed gold-edged caviar until you were sick. He felt the old Roman edging in, the nervous energy that needed to be poured into acting like a child, an idiot, a clown just so he was noticed, not ignored.</p><p>He gripped his phone in his pocket as he crossed the tiled entrance, past the bottom of the stairs, towards his father’s study. He was picking Gerri up in an hour, he kept that at the forefront of his mind. Kept her face right there in his mind as he pushed open the heavy door.</p><p>“Roman, good to see you, good holiday? You look relaxed, good for you, good that some of the top players have time for a jaunt whilst all this shit is kicking off. Keeps you sharp, right.”</p><p>“Yeah Dad, I’m back up to speed. Washington is going well, we’re getting good feedback, making progress.”</p><p>“So I heard.” He plonked himself down in one of the loungers, the whisky in his glass splashing up the sides. “Not gonna play around here Roman, you know I keep my ear to the ground, it’s what’s kept me at the forefront of this business for forty odd years. Gerri.”</p><p>“Erm, Gerri?”</p><p>“Don’t fuck with me son.” His voice trailed off, and there was the slightest hint of a smirk on his weathered face.</p><p>Roman fell into his old routine, leaning on the back of a chair to hide himself, playing dumb. “You want me to work with Gerri on something?”</p><p>Logan laughed, “I think you’ve probably worked her over once too many, don’t you.”</p><p>His chest felt tight, his throat dry. “Ermmm…”</p><p>“End it.”</p><p>“No, Dad – listen,”</p><p>“End it, now! Don’t make me say it again Roman.”</p><p>“But it’s…”</p><p>“It’s NOTHING! Do you hear me? It’s putrid and disgusting. She’s old enough to be your mother.”</p><p>“Mum’s got at least fifteen years on Gerri.”</p><p>“You don’t fucking shit where you eat Roman. Not on my dollar. You want to fucking do this then you walk.” He was pacing now, ranting, barking out orders which made Roman feel jittery and unsafe. “She is essential to the company, you aren’t. There, that’s something for you to chew on, you stupid fuck.”</p><p>Roman felt the familiar trickle of bile rising, his face hot and flustered. He kept trying to think what she’d say if she were here, how she’d handle it.</p><p>“Your track record is hardly sparkling when it comes to women so forgive me for not buying into the idea that this will last. I don’t know what the fuck she’s thinking but I’ve got a fair idea and it revolves around money.”</p><p>He somehow found his voice, “It’s nothing to do with money. Or power. Or…”</p><p>“She’s a fucking stupid bitch, that’s for sure, I thought more of her.”</p><p>“Dad. Don’t say that, come on, Gerri is loyal and, she fucking runs this company for us.”</p><p>“I RUN this company. You think I’m gonna let some broad steamroll her way in because my moron of a son likes kinky sex. What’s she doing, mothering you?”</p><p>“No. Dad. It was just,” he felt like a child trying to defend a mistake and not able to get a word in. “It started in Japan okay, we got close, we got on.”</p><p>“Well you can get fucking off. I don’t want to hear this shit!” He roared. “Listen, you fuck her over she’s got the chops to do damage and at this point –” he came close to Roman, shouting in his face. “At this fucking point in proceedings the last thing we need is Gerri as a loose cannon.”</p><p>“She wouldn’t.”</p><p>“I’ve been around long enough to know anyone can do anything. So, you get your dick out of her and into someone else, Romulas, and you do it now. Otherwise you walk. Choose your side and choose fucking wisely son.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>He goes to her apartment early, but she is ready nonetheless and he lets himself in as he has done many times before.</p><p>“Hi,” she called out to him and he lingered in the hallway where it was dark, hands in pockets. “I am ready,” she says again and then she’s coming out to him, clipping in an earring. “But you are early.”</p><p>She is wearing loose fitting black trousers that seem to shimmer when she walks and a glorious pale pink top and her hair is luscious and her eyes shine and he wishes Logan had just shot him. It would have been easier.</p><p>“Hello,” she presses against him, a kiss to his cheek, hands on his chest. “Thank you for agreeing to come to this tonight, I know it’s not really your thing.”</p><p>“Hey, I’m Mr Flexible right. Anything to help a gal out.”</p><p>She is smiling, and he can feel how happy she is, how relaxed.</p><p>“If we go now we can have drinks at the theatre before we go in.”</p><p>He nodded. Lifting a hand from his pocket to rest on her hip.</p><p>“You okay? You look pale.”</p><p>“Feel a bit off, from the car maybe, nauseous.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s all the travel catching up, and moving from such a warm climate to the ice and snow here.” She is moving away from him, getting her phone, handbag, keys, and he watches as if in a trance. “Do you want to cancel?”</p><p>Another shake of his head. “No, you’ve been looking forward to it.”</p><p>“I have. And the tickets were like gold dust. I promised I’d take you to eat after, you can choose – remember that French place you took me to the other month? We could go there.” She’s slipping her coat on now, draping a scarf over her shoulders.</p><p>“Gerri.”</p><p>“A-ha.”</p><p>“Just… Look…” he catches hold of her body, draws her close to him and she smells so good he could bury himself in her coat and happily die there. “You’re so lovely,” is what he says instead and the words seem so weightless and frivolous.</p><p>She laughs, “Am I? Many would argue that point.”</p><p>“You are. And you’ve been so good to me, so good <em>for</em> me. Done so much for me.”</p><p>“Mmm,” her arms are over his shoulders, body pressing against his so naturally, “and I hope to do more for you later.” She moves in to kiss him, and he can’t stop that, can’t stop the draw of her, the magnetic force between them.</p><p>“We best go,” she whispers against his mouth, “Traffic, and I’m not even going to attempt walking the last few blocks in these shoes.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>He doesn’t mind the play. Doesn’t mind the whole night really. It feels good to be out with her, no hiding, no game playing. They have drinks in a popular bar across from the theatre, she introduces him to people she knows, friends he assumes, or maybe not friends but close enough to think they are her friends. She hangs on his arm, is so close at times in the crowd she is pressed against his side, and it’s easy to just be with her. To play this couple role.</p><p>He likes it.</p><p>She seems pleased, almost proud, to have him there. And that’s intoxicating. His father’s words are in his head though and try as he might there is some kind of detachment there, as if he’s watching things unfold. He plays his part, laughs at the right point, makes the odd joke, but he is far from his usual self.</p><p>“You nervous?” She asks at one point, turning into his body, somehow finding space for them to be alone when it’s so busy and loud. She fiddles with his shirt collar, “Not like you.”</p><p>“Feeling the judgement of your friends.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t go as far as to call them that. Acquaintances. And besides, I think they’re jealous,” she leans closer, whispering by his ear. “I bet most of these women wish they had someone with as much energy as you have.”</p><p>He’s smiling then, a hand resting on her hip. “You do look radiant on it.”</p><p>“You miss me this week?”</p><p>“Did I not emphasise that point last night?”</p><p>She shrugged, “Emphasise it again later. And remember the play is barely three hours long, there’ll be an interval, it may seem like purgatory but try and just keep it in perspective, yes.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, though there better be a hip flask in that handbag.”</p><p>She got good seats, but he expects nothing less. Little by little he’s gotten more of an insight into Gerri’s world outside of Waystar, he knows her lifestyle is luxurious, she likes the finer things, the chic side of the city. And she’s got wealthy friends, powerful links, he can well imagine her name coming up regularly in New York society and he’s a part of that now, because these things move along with or without your consent, and once they put themselves out there they were both well aware of how quickly the news would filter through.</p><p>He should have thought it through more. But it’s easy to be swept up, swept along, in the swell of excitement.</p><p>At the mid-way point they head to the theatre bar, there’s a queue, and they gather behind others.</p><p>“Not too bad for you, is it?” She asks.</p><p>“For a cretin such as me it seems half decent, and yes, I’m following the story line. Thanks very much, no need to draw me a fucking cartoon.”</p><p>She chuckles at that, turns to face him, a hand on his chest, and then she leans in and kisses his mouth very gently and he’s well aware of why – it’s busy, they’re in the centre of it all, and for everyone watching that was a sign. She isn’t ashamed, she doesn’t care what they have to say, this is their choice.</p><p>“Let’s see which gossip column that ends up in,” she says by his mouth and he smiles at her, momentarily tempted to really kiss her, but then she’s turned again, fussing in her bag for her purse and he rests his hand on her lower back.</p><p>“You okay here if I find the restroom?”</p><p>“Course. You want whisky?”</p><p>“Yes, thanks.” His hand seems to linger, so much so she looks up at him over her shoulder.</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He stares at her face for the longest time, she’s so alive these days, so bright and beautiful. Her body feels warm under his palm and he remembers the last time he was naked with her; that morning, waking full of happiness in her arms.</p><p>“Won’t be a minute,” he turns away from her and through the crowd, following the neon lit signs.</p><p>She orders his whisky, a martini for her, and moves to the end of the bar; the crowd thins out once orders are placed and spreads. A couple she knows from her old apartment block find her and she passes almost ten minutes in conversation with them prattling on about their grandkids.</p><p>She glances at her watch, fiddles with it, turns it on her wrist, glancing out over the room as it empties and then turning back to the bar and sipping her drink in order to avoid catching the eye of anyone she knows.</p><p>He can’t be this long. Maybe a work call, some business he has to take care of.</p><p>She slips her hand into her bag and locks her hand around her phone – she’s nervous, she can’t pinpoint why but there’s something itching away at her. She flips her phone and his name is there and there’s a mix of relief and trepidation; it must be work, he must be delayed because of a call and texting to apologise.</p><p>She stares at the message for the longest time.</p><p>The room is empty. Almost silent apart from the clink of glassware as the bar tender clears away the empties. In the distance she can hear the mumble of voices as the play gets underway again.</p><p>She suddenly feels very sick.</p><p>Very alone.</p><p>And she needs to move but her feet won’t comply and she can’t do anything except keep re-reading the message, the very words she herself conjured up out of nowhere one afternoon on the beach; as if by re-reading it will change the words, change the meaning.</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;<em>Gerri, I had to go. Have told car to wait for you. Sorry. Was fun. Happy life. x</em></strong>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was a bit of an emotional chapter to write but i loved every second of it! I hope you've enjoyed it too. x</p></blockquote></div></div>
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